


Blood Red Wine and Sparkling Eyes

by stacnmad



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/M, Flashbacks, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of Murder, adding tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-05 10:22:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11011494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stacnmad/pseuds/stacnmad
Summary: What do you do when the most dangerous jazz singer of the Gotham underground is brought in for questioning? Do you share a moment?An AU where Oswald Cobblepot is a jazz singer during the prohibition era, and Edward is still a rather nervous forensics assistant.((Find me on Tumblr at geleaousfandoms.tumblr.com!!!))





	1. Chapter 1

Edward Nygma didn’t know how he ended up in front of Fish Mooney’s, but he was in his model T, looking at the fish skeleton sign that signaled her establishment. He wasn’t exactly the type of guy to go out to a speakeasy of his own volition. He was never the type of guy to go out very much at all. Dates with Kristen were never an extravagant affair, unless it was a special occasion, like a birthday or an anniversary. Even then, they weren’t this outright risky when planning their evenings. The first thought was a lie, and Edward knew it. He knew exactly why he was here, but he just didn’t want to admit it to himself. He’d been out with Kristen; They’d seen the new Chaplin film, ‘Circus’, and then Ed had taken her back to her apartment. He had started driving home, but found himself driving towards the part of town where booze flowed freely. Ed told himself that he made a wrong turn. Now that he was idling outside of the establishment, he had time to reflect on his day, and considering the day he had, ending up here was no accident.

 

_“Oswald Cobblepot. Jazz singer. Headliner at Mooney’s place, yeah?” Jim Gordon said, eyeing the rather disheveled looking sitting across from him, to no answer from the young man with the messy hair. When Edward had first entered the room, the man, evidently named Oswald, had fixated him with a stare. Ed had been taken aback by how blue his eyes were. On official business, he was there for forensic purposes: taking fingerprints. He sat on Oswald’s left side, doing just that. Before long, he felt like he was the one being examined. Every time Edward would touch his hand to press Oswald’s finger into the ink or onto the fingerprint card, he felt like he was being shocked._

 

_“Yes.” Oswald replied to Jim with a sarcastic smirk. He had one hand under his chin while Edward was taking the prints of the other, and he’d be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t been so affected that he almost dropped the ink. Ed looked over to Kristen, who was taking notes of everything that happened within the room in the context of an interrogation. She remained unperturbed, focused, and capable; that was nothing like Ed felt right then._

 

_“Well, Mr. Cobblepot, about your whereabouts on New Year's Eve-” Jim started, forward in his seat with his hands on the table._

 

_“Oh please, call me Oswald.” Oswald interrupted, biting his lip. The fingerprints on this card were going to be smudged, and Edward knew it._

 

_“Okay. Fine.” Jim sighed, leaning back in frustration. “Oswald, where were you on the night of-”_

 

_“I was singing.” Oswald said, interrupting again. “It was a big night for us, as you can imagine. If you’re referring to Jimmy Gorshin, so sad that he was bumped off and found out back.” He didn’t look sad at all, much to Jim’s apparent chagrin. Ed had to admire him; it wasn’t easy to get under Jim’s skin so quickly. “But you don’t have the goods on me. I don’t know anything.”_

 

_“Damn it..” Jim stood up and started pacing. Kristen shook her head slightly, eventually crossing something off of her transcript.”_

 

_Oswald raised his eyebrows only slightly, keeping up an image of outward calm. “Is he always like this?” He asked, leaning towards Edward and dropping the hand that had held his head to the table. Before Ed could actually answer, Oswald addressed Jim again. “I bet that Butch Gilzean knows something. He’s Mooney’s torpedo.”_

 

_“Thank you.” Jim said, still sounding frustrated but obviously glad to have gotten somewhere. “When Nygma’s done with your fingerprints, you’re free to go.” He then left the interrogation room, Kristen following shortly after with a quick wave and a smile towards Edward, which Ed returned._

 

_“So that’s your girlfriend. Did you get her a promise ring and everything?” Their small interaction, which was almost ritualistic at this point, had not gone unnoticed by Oswald. Edward could’ve sworn that he sounded bitter although Edward’s observations could’ve been altered by the fact that he felt so affronted._

 

_“Is it really any of your business?” Edward started. “And no. She doesn’t wear a ring because I haven’t bought her one.” He didn’t know why he was telling him all of this. He didn’t know why he even answered the question in the first place. “Why do you want to know this?”_

 

_“Call me curious, Nygma.” Oswald said, putting emphasis on his name. “And nice glasses.”_

 

_“Call me Edward. And thank you.” Ed replied. He finished taking Oswalds fingerprints while the two of them sat in a heavy silence._

 

_“Do you love that girl?” Oswald asked, sounding oddly vulnerable, yet still a bite to his voice._

 

_“I’m done taking your fingerprints. And yes, I do. Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?” Edward said defensively._

 

_Oswald didn’t reply, but instead gave Ed a look of intention. Without warning, he smeared the ink from his left thumb onto Ed’s jaw line. Ed’s glasses were knocked out of place. Ed felt paralyzed. Ed felt as if he couldn’t breathe. Then, without saying anything, Oswald got up and left the room._

 

Edward shivered in his car, even though he was still able to feel the ghost of the heat of Oswald’s touch. He wrapped his thin coat around himself as he opened the car door and walked towards the building that wasn’t particularly imposing yet still intimidating.

 

~•~

 

Oswald was singing onstage, and Edward was mesmerized. He should’ve been distracted by the alcohol being passed around; someone had already given him a glass of champagne. He should’ve been distracted by the risque dress and raucous laughter, but he wasn’t. He stood in one spot, watching Oswald sing, for what felt like hours, despite the odd looks he must’ve gotten.

 

When Oswald was finished with his performance, he walked off stage to roaring applause. Two girls took his place, but Edward didn’t notice them; he was too busy scanning the crowd in which Oswald had disappeared in.

 

Ed nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He spun around, and there Oswald was, dressed to the nines. Edward was all of the sudden made painfully aware of how under-dressed he was. He took a sip of champagne, trying to appear casual, and sputtered; it was the first sip of alcohol he ever had. Oswald chuckled a bit to himself, then pulled the handkerchief out of his breast pocket, wiping the bubbly from Ed’s chin. Ed all of the sudden felt warm, too warm, and he told himself that it was because of the crowd, but it wasn’t.

 

“Hello, Edward.” Oswald said, looking up at him with twinkling eyes, and Edward felt his face heat up even more. “Never thought I’d see you here.” Oswald sounded like he didn’t believe one word of the statement. He had the confidence that Edward lacked. Ed felt, and must’ve looked like, he was about to faint. "Let's get some air." Oswald stood on his tiptoes and whispered in Ed’s ear. Edward was then lead through the crowd with determination. He was taken through a series of winding halls to a door with a gilded plaque reading 'O. Cobblepot'. He knew this couldn't possibly lead to the outside, and he knew what this would look like. As he was thinking this he felt his feet walk him forward into the room that was far too small for two men. There was enough room for them to walk around a bit if they wished, but they both didn't dare to move. It was harder to breathe here than it was surrounded by the writhing bodies of those in the throes of some sinful act.

 

With Edward pressed up against the door of his own volition and Oswald looking up at him with a gaze that conveyed some sort of thing that Edward didn't know how to name, they stood in silence until all of the sudden they weren't standing still. The silence became breathy whispers and moans when they met in the middle, mouths coming together in some lawless act as Ed wrapped his arms around Oswald's neck. Ed's glasses slipped askew as he was pressed against the dressing room door with all the passionate fervor and force of a man who knew what it was like to kill.

 

Whatever had happened was over as quickly as it started, and Edward would've thought it was a dream had he not been breathing hard and had he not felt that particular burning warmth that tended to elude him. He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose He was aware of the rise and fall of his chest and of his flaming cheeks, and he felt almost as if he could cry.

 

"I'm..I'm sorry." Oswald said, the catch in his throat audible. The man turned around towards the small table that was most likely meant for stage makeup, nonsensically rearranging the variety of products he had on display. Ed could hear the other man's shaky breathing, which sounded closer to muffled sobs than the previous moans of ecstasy.

 

"I'm not." Edward replied simple, surprising himself with how easy the words came to him. It was the first thing he’d said to Oswald since he’d seen him that night. Their roles of confidence had seemingly reversed. "I'm not sorry at all." It was his one shining thought of clarity among the confusion, lust, and something infinitely more tender. He watched as Oswald's movements slowed and eventually reached a point where the man was entirely tense. Ed felt his own breath catch in his throat. Before the man before him could turn fully around, before they could face each other and face the consequences of their actions, he ran. He ran out of the dressing room, through the maze of hallways, and through the main dance hall until he shot out onto the streets, running into the night.

 

It wasn't that he felt sorry, no, Edward Nygma felt scared. He hadn’t felt this scared for a long time.

 

~•~

 

Edward ended up knocking on Kristen's apartment door, at about 2 in the morning, because he didn't really have anywhere else to go. She opened the door in her pajamas and a fluffy white robe, which shouldn't really have surprised Ed, considering how late it was.

 

"Edward?" Kristen said his name in bewilderment. Ed could understand her confusion; he would've been equally as confused had someone shown up at such an odd time. She wrapped her robe tightly around her shoulders. "It's freezing in this hallway. Come in." She said, stepping back inside and leading the way to her slightly undersized kitchen. "I could put on a pot of coffee, if you wanted." Kristen smiled softly, already reaching for the pot.

 

"I.." Edward wasn't sure what to say. What could he say, in this sort of situation? 'Hey, I just kissed one of the most prominent jazz singers of the Gotham underground. Yes, the man who was brought into the station for questioning last week.'. He rubbed his hands nervously against the front his pants, unable to get rid of the feeling of Oswald's body pressed against his. "I don't want any coffee, Kristen, thank you. I came here to say...I came here because I need to tell you something." Ed swallowed nervously, steeling himself for what he was about to do.

 

"Yes?" Kristen turned back towards Ed, abandoning the notion of coffee for a caring smile and a calming demeanor. "You can tell me anything."

 

"I don't love you." Edward said, after several moments of silent hesitation and deliberation. "It's not your fault. I swear. You're a wonderful woman. You're just...you're a woman." He was vaguely aware that he had just halfway confessed what he'd done, even without mentioning a name or a time or a place. The words Ed chose were enough of an implication.

 

In their proximity and under the flickering electric light that'd been installed in the building a few months ago, Edward could see every expression that came across Kristen's face. At first, it was shock; then he saw the confusion in her eyes that prefaced a dawning realization. "I think I understand. You..you don't like women like you like men. Or, not as much.”

 

“I do care about you, I just-”

 

“Oh, lay off, Eddie, I care about you, too, and I know you do. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t tell me this and you’d feel trapped and I’d feel delusional.” Kristen started, to a confused look from Ed. “I’ve had my suspicions. I was in the room transcribing the interview with that jazz singer, you know. I saw the way you looked at him. There’s been times before then, too. I’m a secretary; It’s my job to notice things.”

 

“I’m sorry, Kristen.” Ed said apologetically. She was being calm, careful, and kind as she always was. He wasn’t sorry that he’d kissed Oswald or that he didn’t love her as it was told he should; he was sorry that she couldn't have been let down easier.

 

“Don’t be. Not about that. I went to an women’s boarding school, Ed. I knew some girls like you. They were my friends.” She looked down before speaking again, trying to conceal some sort of emotion. “I suppose that we could remain friends. Though, it can’t be like it was.” Kristen smiled up at Ed, trying to hide the fact that there were tears in her eyes. “Maybe in another lifetime.” She was mourning, then, for love lost, and he couldn’t blame her.

 

“Maybe.” He replied, eternally grateful for Kristens grace and feeling pinpricks of tears of his own.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry that this took so long but I’m on winter break from school now so things should continue to speed up :)

Edward drove home soon after his admission, with Kristen’s blessing to drive home safe. His apartment wasn’t the nicest, though it got the job done. But, as he was lying in bed that night, the poorness of the walls and the ceiling was made even more apparent as he felt the January chill and heard the couple living above him in the throes of passion.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Oswald. Needless to say, Ed didn’t get much sleep that night. But, by some miracle, what little sleep he got was dreamless.

~•~

Saturday: Edward Nygma’s day off. Usually, he still woke up at 6 am on the dot, his body functioning like a machine. That particular Saturday, Ed blearily blinked open his eyes with the sun already streaming bright into his meager apartment, illuminating the dust particles floating around the mostly bare room. The time was definitely a while after his customary 6 am wake up, though remembering his night before, Ed had to admit to himself that his life was becoming anything but customary.

Saturday: a supposed day of rest and relaxation. One was supposed to reflect upon their past week and think calmly about the future, all while taking time to be in the present. Usually, Ed would spend his saturdays in the Gotham Public Library, electing to ponder the past, future, and present of people who had no impact on his own person. Edward couldn’t stop thinking about his very recent past; the memory Oswald’s lips on his for that brief, blissful moment kept replaying over and over in his mind’s eye. As for the very near future, even Edward knew that Saturday nights were when clubs, both legal and illegal, were the busiest. After a few minutes of clearing his throat and blinking the crust out of his eyes, Edward found himself rifling through his closet for something to wear.

“That sort of bunk that I wore last night won’t happen again, not so long as I have a say about it.” Edward whispered to himself.

He suddenly sat on his bed, absolutely disgusted with himself. He had never been the type of man to care about those things. He had never worried too much about what he wore to dates with Kristen, and now he was fettering about, concerned about how he would appear to patrons at a speakeasy. Edward could barely admit to himself that he was just going there for one particular person, not a patron, but a performer. Yet, the one glaring obvious was that he was more concerned with how he appeared to a man, to a criminal, than how he appeared to Kristen. 

What kind of man was he?

Ed buried his head in his hand, disappointed, yet secretly enthralled, by the man that he was becoming. Though even as he sat there in a deep and profoundly confusing despair that wasn’t quite depressing, he knew he would at least try to go to the club.

~•~ 

Stepping into the club that night, Ed once again both marveled and despaired at the type of man he was becoming. He had found something to wear, an emerald green suit with an accompanying bowler hat, worn to a GCPD new year's celebration, that he had found absolutely ridiculous at the time (but Kristen had insisted that he was the cat’s pajamas). In Fish Mooney’s club, he didn’t feel like a garish sap. In fact, he fit right in with the rest of the opulent jewel tones, although he didn’t quite feel as spiffy as he looked.

“Shouldn’t have worn the hat..” Ed muttered to himself, feeling sweat gather at his brow. He watched the performers with a hesitance to look at the movements they made, the same two girls from the night before, introduced as ‘Barbara and Tabitha’, no last names. He was nervous; he was more than nervous, as he hadn't quite gotten used to such vulgarity in his presence. He wasn’t nervous about the acts themselves, but more about how they made him feel. He stayed against the wall, almost pushing himself against it, trying not to be noticed by anyone around him.

“Nygma? What the hell are you doing in a joint like this?” So much for not being seen, Edward thought, as the unmistakable voice of Jim Gordon pervaded his ears over the music and camaraderie.

Ed suddenly had the thought that this wasn’t so bad. Jim sounded surprised, and Edward’s own mere presence had surprised him. Ed felt a surge of confidence, and spun on his heels towards the sound of Jim’s voice.

“Hello, Jimmy, old buddy, old pal!” Ed dramatically greeted Jim, take off the hat and bowing like he was some sort of prince. “How nice of you to pay us a visit.” Edward could hear the playful sneer in how own voice. Who was he becoming?

Gordon gave him a look of confusion tinged with a little bit of disgust, and Edward couldn’t deny that he knew where he was coming from. Ed was out of his element; he was meant to be behind desks, going over evidence. He wasn’t made for a nightclub like this. This wasn’t his place, he didn’t know from nothing...but Jim didn’t know that. Not for sure.

“You a regular here, Nygma?” Jim asked, his doubt still obvious even as he was trying to be heard above the crowd.

“So what if I am?” Ed voiced his answer-question in the same sly tone of voice as before, however false and uncharacteristic such a tone of voice was for him. He felt like the villain in a trashy dime-store novel.

“If you frequent this...err...establishment, you could’ve witnessed the events leading up to Jimmy Gorshin’s murder. This is a follow-up investigation, Edward. Me and Harv, we’re- Damn.”

Ed turned towards the sound of the most raucous revelry, and sure enough, GCPDs own Harvey Bullock was at the near center of it all. Ed gawked at the scene before him, temporarily forgetting his cunning persona. He was soon startled back around by the sound of Jim’s voice, with one question that made the sounds of the music and crowds fade around him, one question with five words and one singular answer.

“Why are you even here?” He couldn’t tell Jim why. He could barely even admit to himself why; doing so would admit to himself his own truth that he was so trying to deny. There was no way that he would make Jim privy to such a secret. His stunned sentiment must’ve shown on his face, as Jim shook his head in a way that a father would if he caught his child doing something that he shouldn’t. “Go home, Ed. Or...go to Kristen, I don’t care. Just leave. This place, the people here...they’re dangerous.”

“What if I like danger?” Ed’s clever undertones were all but disappeared, replaced by a serious awareness of the danger of this place, of these people. One particular person, really, that persons allure was the one danger that enthralled him.

As if on cue, “Ozzie Cobblepot”, as shouted by an over enthusiastic announcer, sauntered on stage, much to Edward Nygma’s not-so-subtle excitement and Jim Gordon’s much apparent chagrin. Jim looked from Oswald, to Edward, and back to Oswald, not quite noticing something that was almost quite there. He sighed heavily in exasperation about the whole situation, and then went over to the bar to peel Harvey away from the booze.

Edward, not surprisingly, was too entrapped in Oswald’s performance to care or even notice any of Jim’s actions. The sultry tones of Oswald’s voice subdued him into a romantic stupor, and time seemed to slow down again. He couldn’t have told you the lyrics, he couldn’t even have named you the name of any song that Oswald ever sang, but Ed remembered his voice for the rest of his life.

When the singing stopped, it was like Ed was thrusted back into a reality that was all too unknown to him. He could act all he could that he was in his element, but the truth was glaringly obvious. He was here for Oswald.

Edward pushed his way through the crowd in the direction that Oswald had lead him the night previous, throwing out apologies as he crashed through the throng of club-goers. For the first time in his life, his memory faltered as he tried to remember which hallways to turn down to get to Oswald’s dressing room. Finally, he reached his destination: the door with the gilded plaque that read ‘O. Cobblepot’. He was working up the courage to knock when the door swung open.

There was a woman who gave him the most piercing stare. Her hair was cut short, and dyed some red. She had an air about her that gave the indication that she could kill you with the snap of her fingers, and her extravagant manner of dress gave the indication that she had the resources to do so.

She looked him up and down, and Edward felt as if he was taking an exam that he was bound to fail. She gave a disapproving look, and turned towards Oswald.

“You could do better, pet.”

Edward pondered on what the hell that meant as she brushed past him and walked deeper into the maze of halls. He entered the dressing room, and found Oswald sitting at the vanity, looking very beautiful, if not slightly distressed. Ed couldn’t find the words to say. The persona of cunning had left him, and he felt like a plain fool in a shiny green suit.

“You learn quickly that you can’t hide a thing from Miss Mooney. Either that, or you end up dead or far, far worse.”

They stood in an awkward silence. Ed took his hat off, then put it on, then took it off again, holding it against is chest. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands at this point.

“Why are you here?” Oswald said, in a dry tone that betrayed too much knowing, trying to give off the air that he had just realized who Ed was.

“I wanted…”

“Close the door.”

Ed did as he was told. “I..I needed to see you.” It was the truth, the absolute truth, told by Ed into a confined space to the only one who needed to hear it. He needed to hear it himself, to remind himself of the truth that was the only reason that he’d willingly travel to this side of the city, the only reason he’d risk most everything. He’d already ended things with Kristen, and she knew about why. Jim had seen him in the club, in his ridiculous green suit, and Jim was a smart man, he could figure it out if he did enough digging. Even behind closed doors, some secrets were destined to come to light. “Ozzie, I…” What would Ed say? That he missed him? That he loved him? He’d only seen him but one day ago, and he hadn’t known him but a week. How could he miss him? How could he fall in love that fast? So, Ed stayed quiet.

Oswald turned around on his stool, still clutching a pot of rouge. He looked up at Ed with shining eyes like diamonds, and Ed thought he looked beautiful. He decided that he did love him; how couldn’t he? The intensity of his gaze, his beautiful voice, they affected Ed like nothing had ever before.

“I..I love you.”

Oswald dropped the rouge, half in disbelief and half in some unidentifiable yearning. The makeup cracked, powdered pigment spilling onto the floor as Ozzie tried to school his expression into one that was of less than complete and utter shock. “What did you just say?” He stammered as sharply as he could, admitting only to himself that he did in fact hear Edward loud and clear. The only other noises were the faint hum of the new electric lights and the noise of the crowded club, dampened by the walls between them.

“Ozzie, I..” Edward’s voice broke, a tidal wave of emotion flowing through him. He’d ruined everything, he was sure about it. They’d shared only one kiss and a few words with each other; how was it possible for him to love Oswald? He couldn’t deny his feelings for him, though, whether it be the first flutterings of love or otherwise. Right then, he dealt as if he wanted to be set on fire. The heat of embarrassment colored his face, and he looked down in shame.

“How could you love the likes of me?” Oswald said, in a quiet voice that betrayed too much, with eyes on Edward that would’ve betrayed too many secrets had the man been looking.

Whatever his question meant, it wasn’t the answer that Edward expected. He thought he’d be shamed for his feelings, as he’d ever always been. He didn’t know what to expect, but in that moment, he felt shock, and he felt confusion as to how Oswald could even think that he couldn’t be loved. He looked back up, and saw the glistening wetness in Oswald’s eyes. Was he crying? Ed watched him desperately try to hold tears back, helpless to do or say anything. When one lone tear escaped, reflected the golden light that illuminated his skin, Edward had to speak, even if he didn’t quite know what to say.

“Oswald. I..I have feelings for you. Of course I do. Why would I not? From the very beginning, I’ve been charmed, so charmed by your presence, your eyes, your words, the lips that they spill forward from…”

“Ed.” Oswald said, touched by his display of emotion.

Edward hadn’t noticed until Oswald spoke that through the course of his confession, he’d gotten closer to Oswald, enough to see himself in his vanity’s mirror, surrounded by more lighting than he was sure his own apartment contained. He watched himself place his bowler hat on the table. He watched himself take his glasses and fold them, setting them beside one of Oswald’s makeup palettes. His actions looked awfully methodical, but when he caught a glimpse of Oswald looking at his hands, seemingly enraptured by their movements, he felt some human warmth flood through him. He turned to face Oswald, the real Oswald, in the flesh. Still, the man was a reflection of all that Edward had ever desired. He had the strongest desire to kiss him, to hold him, but instead they remained as they were, enraptured with each other, until there was a knock at the door. 

“Oswald! You’re on in five!”

The moment was broken. Miss Mooney’s voice, while neither shrill nor unpleasant, was unwelcome to the both of them. Before Ed could gather his things to leave, however, Oswald stood up and whispered into his ear. 

“Meet me under the Narrows bridge. Midnight tonight.” The narrows bridge. Edward knew that place, whether it be through the scoffing remarks about the location heard from his compatriots at the GCPD or the fretting of his landlord, who he suspected on more than a few occasions of being homosexual. Not that he said anything about it; they lived in a mutual silence. Ed paid his rent.

Just like that, Oswald had picked up his rouge, begun to apply touch ups to his foundation where his single tear had fallen and been left almost unacknowledged save for the adjustments to the smoothness of his concealed skin. He’d left Edward to contemplate as if nothing had happened, as if he was a ghost. No sooner had Ed realized what in fact Oswald has asked of him by his invitation, than did he gather his things and leave, almost running down the halls of the club as if the time would go by faster, as if midnight was some destination that could be hurried to. No matter how taboo or forbidden a midnight was, he’d wished that it would come sooner to him.

Midnight. Under the narrows bridge. Midnight. Under the narrows bridge. Oswald’s particular phrasing repeated in his mind. God willing, he’d make it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God, finally!! I actually update!! I’m so sorry

Midnight. Under the Narrows bridge. Truth be told, Edward had arrived closer to a ten o'clock, shivering anticipation oozing  through his bones. In truth, in the slowing minutes approaching midnight, Edward Nygma was sat in his car, eyes practically pouring onto the space where they’d meet. Under the Narrows bridge, a perfect spot to hide whatever sort of vile truths, yet that were so toothsome and exquisite, that were bound to be exposed upon any midnight traipse, where the pouring rain would wash any evidence away.   
  
Ed looked down at the glass of his watch, and observed the exact moments of the ticking hand gently caressing the twelve of the face. Ed then looked up and there he was, on the exact stroke of midnight, Oswald Cobblepot, standing upon the cobbled stones, barely in the shadows of midnight, under the narrows bridge.    
  
Had Edward been stronger, he’d have ripped the car door right off of its hinges with his enthusiasm, the aforementioned coming across as a heady reckless abandonment. He all but ran to Oswald, not caring about any water that was pouring into his eyes. His mouth, his lips. He took Oswald’s face into his gently caressing hands, and they just stood there, in complete silence, other than the rain pattering on the road above them, and the extremely occasional car driving across the bridge. He gazed upon Oswald’s face, his eyes. His mouth, his lips.   
  
“I was afraid you would actually come to your senses.” Oswald laughs, and Edward laughs, though times being as they were, they both knew that it wasn’t so much of a  joke or a laughing matter. Ed very well could’ve come to his senses, and gone back to Kristen, or, forbid it, back home. Yet if his sins had damned him, as had happened according to his mother and father, and this was his hell, he could hardly believe that any heaven could be any more sweet. The delicacies of lost senses had not made him bitter. They had not soured his disposition towards life and such experiences offered.   
  
Truth be told, this experience wasn’t as common as taking a pleasant afternoon nap or having a nice meal at an Italian restaurant. This situation had the potential to be very unpleasant, what with the bridge overhead, the danger of exposure on either side of them, and the cold, cramped feeling of the sheets of rain walling them in.   
  
“Midnight. Under the Narrows bridge. Didn’t want to be late.” Another truth, much like his own, untimely confession about his need, came tumbling from Ed’s lips, sounding as if he was reciting an order he’d received. Hearing the sound of his own voice after some hours of relative silence made him feel an abhorrent shame, and his hands retreated back to his sides, clenched fearfully, with dread in the pit of his stomach. He suddenly felt gaudy and out of place: he was still wearing a shiny green suit in their damp dark corner.   
  
“You said you loved me. Christ, Ed, you met me when I was giving my statement. The most we ever did was punch the bag a little bit. Maybe I smeared that ink on purpose, maybe I didn’t, but that was all just small talk!” Oswald looked up at Ed, with frustration in his eyes and his body held tense, bracing against the cold or guarding against the possibility of tedious heartbreak.   
  
“I knew I was stuck on you from the moment I kissed you. And if you didn’t believe me, why’d you ask me to meet you here?” Edward said, betraying his normal curiosity after a moment of hesitation. He’d felt vile and cretinous, but looking into Oswald’s eyes and seeing his feelings of vexing irritation reflecting upon his own was a startling pull to a stark reality of what heaven and hell really meant for guys like them. He silently thanked God for girls like Kristen, who would always be kind and beautiful no matter what, before the interruption of Oswald’s subtle skepticism of his reasoning.   
  
“It’s as good a place as any.” Even in with the shadows blurring Ed’s vision to a darkness, he still saw Oswald visibly tense with defensiveness and paranoia. Things being as they were, such prickling behavior could be expected.   
  
“You know what goes on here just as well as I do.” Edward replied, becoming acutely aware of the hardness of the cool cement beneath his feet and the chill brought by both the rain and the seductive taboo of the atmosphere. Things being as they were, this discomfort quickly became a haven for the allure of what the general public might consider sickening. “Why are we here? Why are we not back at Mooney’s?”   
  
“Even in my line of work, this sort of thing can still get me killed. Fish Mooney’s favoritism is the only thing keeping me alive. This stays a secret.”   
  
“I’d rather be something of a secret than nothing at all, Oswald.”   
  
“Love is a dangerous word, Ed, and you and I live in a world where even the slightest danger turns deadly.”   
  
They stood in a heavy silence. Neither could breathe a word for a moment, as the previous sentiments still hung, ruminating, in the air. After what seemed like hours, but what was, in reality, only a few minutes, Oswald muttered something that was nearly inintelligible and turned his head as if to leave.    
  
“You don’t even know me.”   
  
The rain was clearing at this point in the early hours of the morning, and Ed caught sight of Oswald’s eyes, reflecting in the light of the moon. Those eyes that had looked into his that day at the precinct. Those eyes that gazed out across the crowd of illicit party guests, most of whom, most likely, had outstanding warrants, and charmed them to the point where they would have paraded willingly into the nearest church confession booth, and then, immediately afterwards, the nearest judges pulpit. Those eyes that Edward had fallen in love with.   
  
“Wait. Wait!” Edward reached out and grabbed Oswald’s arm to prevent his leave. He could discern the expensive quality of the fabric by touch, even if it had been gently soaked by the rain. Both men looked at the place on Oswald’s arm where Edward’s hand was gripped like a human vice, desperate for answers or a good feeling or something of the two. “I want to know you. Come back to my apartment.”   
  
“Edward, that’s awfully forward.” The boldness of the requested sentiment didn’t go by unnoticed to Oswald.   
  
“I have what a poor man has, but a rich man wants. I have nothing if I don’t have you.” Edward could taste the desperation in his own voice, and could hear the calling  _ patheticsadloser  _ of his own demons. Yet, he meant every word that he said, and there was no denying such an audaciously shared truth.   
  
~•~   
  
The drive home to his apartment and the subsequent walk up his stoop and into his hallway and turning his key and opening his door all lead to Edward Nygma sitting at his piano, acutely aware of the other body in his bedroom. The other breathing, living man had entered after him, taking in the dreary sight of his apartment, shrouded in the soft glow of an oil lamp, burning brightly, freshly lit on the way into the room.   
  
“I can play piano.” Edward said, if somewhat meekly for someone who, just half an hour earlier, had near propositioned what could be considered a crime. These had been the first words to disturb the air between them since that proposal, the car ride being silent and filled with a thick tension that could’ve been cut with a knife.   
  
“And I can sing.” Oswald responded with something that wasn’t quite a retort, yet something that still wasn’t spoken with the softest or sweetest cadence.

 

Instead of responding with his own sly quip, Edward played the first notes of Clair de Lune, which could’ve been calling Oswald’s bluff if he didn’t have so much faith in his abilities, having witnessed them firsthand, when they had been reunited at Mooney’s club, and then after, having been introduced to each other so warmly, Edward got very much familiar with the other aspects and talents of Oswald’s lips.

 

As soft piano music filled the apartment, Edward could make out the sound of Oswald singing along on a “doo”. The song had no lyrics, but its meaning was conveyed through emotion, through a quietly intense expression.

 

Edward let the music fade on its own, though the tension created by the melody still hung heavy in the air. He turned his head, only barely, looking upon Oswald as he was bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight that filtered through the curtains of his apartment. As though compelled by the hysteria or willing of the full moon, Edward rose from his seat at the piano, and sat beside Oswald, feeling the soft creak of the spring of his own bed. They were close, their thighs touching, and Edward thought to himself that they hadn’t been so close as this, besides in the rain a few hours ago, since that yesterday. 

 

“Do you believe in fate?” Edward asked timidly, still in that beginning phase where he was afraid to ask questions that he wasn’t sure he’d like the answer to. “I mean… fate, as in...how we met, why we know each other...was there any- destiny.” Edward stumbled to amend his earlier statement, fearing being too forward, but still feeling the compulsion to explain himself.

 

Oswald kissed him softly, his right hand on Edward’s cheek, and this would’ve served as a well enough reply, if not for the confirmation that came after. “I suppose I do. I wouldn’t meet anyone in the cold, damp rain if it wasn’t my… destiny, as you so eloquently put it.”

 

They laughed. Sure, it was light teasing, and Edward had experience the cruelties of jest in school and beyond that into the workplace and his daily life, but what they had in that moment wasn’t the sort of tease or jest that caused any inward or outward expression of pain. They laughed not at each other, but with each other, falling into each other's arms as the laughter filled Edward’s apartment.

 

Trying to suppress his fit, Edward remarked that they didn’t want to wake anyone, lest they come knocking and asking questions, to which Oswald replied that they should only be worried if they did anything illegal, to which Edward replied with throwing his arms around Oswalds neck, kissing him passionately as he had seen in the romance films of Rudolph Valentino or Buster Keaton, or even Clara Bow. 

 

They were very worried, indeed.


End file.
